Speaker 1: The Safety Match by Anton Tchehov, Part one. On the
morning of October sixth, eighteen eighty five, in the office
of Inspector of Police of the second Division of s District,
there appeared a respectably dressed young man who announced that
his master, Marcus Ivanovitch Klausov, a retired officer of the
horse Guards, separated from his wife, had been murdered. While
making this announcement, the young man was white and terribly agitated.
His hands trembled and his eyes were full of terror.
Whom have I the honor of addressing, asked the Inspector Psaikov,
Lieutenant Klausov's agent, agriculturist and mechanician. The inspector and his deputy,
on visiting the scene of the occurrence in company with Psaikov,
found the following. Near the wing in which Klausov had lived,
was gathered a dense crowd. The news of the murder
had sped swift as lightnings for the neighborhood and the peasantry,
thanks to the fact that the day was a holiday,
had hurried together from all the neighboring villages. There was
much commotion and talk here and there. Pale tear stained
faces were seen. The door of Klasov's bedroom was found locked.
The key was inside. It is quite clear that the
scoundrels got in by the window, said Psaikoff. As they
examined the door. They went to the garden into which
the bedroom window opened. The window looked dark and ominous.
It was covered by a faded green curtain. One corner
of the curtain was slightly turned up, which made it
possible to look into the bedroom. Did any of you
look into the window, asked the inspector. Certainly not, your worship,
answered Ephraim. The gardener, a little, gray haired old man
who looked like a retired sergeant. Who's going to look
in if all their bones are shaking? Ah, markus Ivanovitch.
Markus Ivanovitch sighed the inspector, looking at the window. I
told you you would come to a bad end, I
told the dear man, but he wouldn't listen. Dissipation doesn't
bring any good. Thanks to Ephraim, said Psikov. But for
him we would never have guessed. He was the first
to guess that something was wrong. He comes to me
this morning and says, why is the master so long?
Getting up? He hasn't left his bedroom for a whole week.
The moment he said that, it was just as if
some one had hit me with an axe, the thought
flashed through my mind. We haven't had a sight of
him since last Saturday, and to day is Sunday, seven
whole days. Not a doubt of it. Ay, poor fellow, again,
sighed the Inspector. He was a clever fellow, finely educated
and kind hearted to that, and in society nobody could
touch him. But he was a oyster. God rest his soul.
I was prepared for anything since he refused to live
with Olga Petrovna, poor thing, a good wife, but a
sharp tongue. Stephen, the Inspector called to one of his deputies,
go over to my house this minute, and send Andrew
to the captain to lodge an information with him. Tell
him that Markus Ivanovitch has been murdered and run over
to the orderly. Why should he sit there kicking his heels.
Let him come here and go as fast as you
can to the examining magistrate Nikolas Yamulayevitch. Tell him to
come over here. Wait, I'll write him a note. The
Inspector posted sentinels around the wing, wrote a letter to
the examining magistrate, and then went over to the director's
for a glass of tea. Ten minutes later, he was
sitting on a stool, carefully nibbling a lump of sugar
and swallowing the scalding tea. There you are, he was
saying to Psikov. There you are, a noble by birth,
a rich man, a favorite of the gods. You may say,
as Pushkin has it. And what did he come to?
He drank and dissipated, And there you are. He is murdered.
After a couple of hours, the examining magistrate drove up
Nicholas Yemulayevitch Chubikov, for that was the magistrate's name, was
a tall, fleshy old man of sixty who had been
wrestling with the duties of his office for a quarter
of a century. Every one in the district knew him
as an honest man, wise, energetic, and in love with
his work. He was accompanied to the scene of the
murder by his inveterate companion, fellow worker and secretary Dukovsky,
a tall young fellow of twenty six. Is it possible, gentlemen,
cried Chubikov, entering Psakov's room and quickly shaking hands with
every one. Is it possible, marko Ivanovitch murdered, No, it
is impossible, Im pass soboul go in there, sighed the inspector. Lord,
have mercy on us. Only last Friday I saw him
at the fair and Farubankov I had a drink of
vodka with him. Save the mark, Go in there, again,
sighed the inspector. They sighed, uttered exclamations of horror, drank
a glass of tea each and went to the wing.
Get back, the orderly, cried to the peasants. Going to
the wing, the examining magistrate began his work by examining
the bedroom door. The door proved to be of pine,
painted yellow, and was uninjured. Nothing was found which could
serve as a clew. They had to break in the door.
Every One not here on business as requested to keep away,
said the magistrate, When after much hammering and shaking, the
door yielded to axe and chisel, I request this in
the interest of the investigation. Orderly, don't let any one in. Chrubykov,
his assistant and the inspector opened the door, and hesitatingly
one after the other entered the room, their eyes met
the following sight. Beside the single window stood the big
wooden bed with a huge feather mattress. On the crumpled
feather bed lay a tumbled, crumpled quilt. The pillow in
a cotton pillow case, also much crumpled, was dragging on
the floor. On the table beside the bed lay a
silver watch and a silver twenty copeck piece. Beside them
lay himself a mattress. Beside the bed, the little table
and the single chair. There was no furniture in the room.
Looking under the bed, the inspector saw a couple of
dozen empty bottles, an old straw hat, and a quart
of vodka. Under the table lay one top boot covered
with dust. Casting a glance around the room, the magistrate
frowned and grew red in the face. Scoundrels, he muttered,
clenching his fists. And where is markus Ivanovitch asked Dukovsky
in a low voice. Mind your own business. Chubikov answered roughly,
be good enough to examine the floor. This is not
the first case of the kind I have had to
deal with, yugov Kuzmitch, he said, turning to the inspector
and lowering his voice. In eighteen seventy, I had another
case like this, but you must remember it, the murder
of the merchant Putrietov. It was just the same there.
The scoundrels murdered him and dragged the corpse out through
the window. Chubikov went up to the window, pulled the
curtain to one side, and carefully pushed the window. The
window opened. It opens. You see it wasn't fastened. Mum.
There are tracks under the window. Look, there is the
track of a knee. Somebody got in there. We must
examine the windows thoroughly. There is nothing special to be
found on the floor, said Dukovsky. No stains are scratches.
The only thing I found was a struck safety match here.
It is so far as I remember. Marko Ivanovitch did
not smoke, and he always used sulfur matches, never safety matches.
Perhaps this safety match may serve as a clue. Oh
do shut up, cried the magistrate deprecatingly. You go on
about your match. I can't buy these dreamers. Instead of
chasing matches, you had better examine the bed. After a
thorough examination of the bed, Dukovsky reported there are no
spots either of blood or of anything else. There are
likewise no new torn places on the pillar. There are
signs of teeth. The quilt is stained with something which
looked like beer and smells like beer. The general aspect
of the bed gives grounds for thinking that a struggle
took place on it. I know there was a struggle
without your telling me. You are not being asked about
his struggle. Instead of looking for struggles, you had better.
Here is one top boot, but there is no sign
of the other. Well, and what of that? It proves
that they strangled him while he was taking his boots off.
He hadn't time to take the second boot off. When
there you go, And how do you know they strangled him?
There are marks of teeth on the pillow. The pillow
itself is badly crumpled and thrown a couple of yards
from the bed. Listen to his foolishness. Better come into
the garden. You would be better employed examining the garden
than digging around here. I can do that without you.
When they reached the garden, they began by examining the grass.
The grass under the window was crushed and trampled a
bushy bird growing under the window close to the wall,
was also trampled. Dukovsky succeeded in finding on it some
broken twigs and a piece of cotton wool. On the
upper branches were found some fine hairs of dark blue wool.
What color was his last suit, Dukovsky asked, Psaikov yellow crash. Excellent,
you see they wore blue. A few twigs of the
burdock were cut off and carefully wrapped in paper by
the investigators. At this point, please, Captain Atsuybashev, Svistakovski and
doctor Tyutyev arrived. The captain bade them good day and
immediately began to satisfy his curiosity. The doctor, a tall,
very lean man with dull eyes, a long nose and
a pointed chin, without greeting anyone or asking about anything,
sat down on a log, sighed and began the servians
are at war again. What in Heaven's name can they
want now, Austria, it's all you're doing. The examination of
the window from the outside did not supply any conclusive data.
The examination of the grass and the bush's nearest to
the window yielded a series of useful clues. For example,
Dukovski succeeded in discovering a long, dark streak made up
of spots on the grass, which led some distance into
the center of the garden. The streak ended under one
of the lilac bushes in a dark browzed stain. Under
this same lilac bush was found the top boot, which
turned out to be the fellow of the boot already
found in the bedroom. That is a blood stain made
some time ago, said Dukovski, examining the spot. At the
word blood, the doctor rose and going over lazily looked
at the spot. Yes, it is blood, he muttered. That
shows he wasn't strangled. If there was blood, said Chubikov,
looking sarcastically at Dukovsky. They strangled him in the bedroom,
and here, fearing him come round again, they struck him
a blow with some sharp pointed instrument. The stain under
the bush proves that he lay there a considerable time
while they were looking about for some way of carrying
him out of the garden. Well, and how about the boot.
The boot confirms completely my idea that they murdered him
while he was taking his boots off before going to bed.
He had already taken off one boot and the other
this one here he had only had time to take
half off. The half off boot came off of itself
while the body was dragged over and fell. There's a
lively imagination for you, laughed Chubekov. He goes on and
on like that. When will you learn enough to drop
your deductions? Instead of arguing and deducing, it would be
much better if you took some of the blood stained
grass for analysis. When they had finished their examination and
drawn a plan of the locality, the investigators went to
the director's office to write their report and have breakfast.
While they were breakfasting, there went on talking the watch,
the money, and so on, all untouched. Tchubykov began leading
off the talk show. As clearly as two and two
are four that the murder was not committed for the
purpose of robbery. The murder was committed by an educated man,
insisted Dukovsky. What evidence have you of that the safety
match proves that to me? For the peasants hereabouts are
not yet acquainted with safety matches. Only the landowners use them,
and by no means all of them. And it is
evident that there was not one murderer, but at least three,
two held him while one killed him. Klasov was strong,
and the murderers must have known it. What good would
his strength be Supposing he was asleep? The murderers came
on him while he was taking off his boots. If
he was taking off his boots, that proves he wasn't asleep.
Stop inventing your deductions. Better eat, in my opinion, your worship,
said the gardener Ephraim, setting the samovar on the table.
It was nobody but Nicholas who did this dirty trick?
Quite possible, said Psykov. And who is Nicholas the Master's valid,
your worship, answered Ephraim. Who else could it be? He
is a rascal, your worship. He is a drunkard and
a blackguard, the like of which Heaven should not permit.
He always took the Master his vodka and put the
Master to bed. Who else could it be? And I
also ventured to point out to your worship he once
boasted at the public house that he would kill the Master.
It happened on account of Aquilina, the woman you know
he was making up to his soldier's widow. She pleased
the Master. The Master made friends with her himself, and Nicholas.
Naturally he was mad. He is rolling about drunk in
the kitchen. Now he is crying and telling lies, saying
he is sorry for the master. The examining magistrate ordered
Nicholas to be brought. Nicholas, a lanky young fellow with
a long freckled nose, narrow chested, and wearing an old
jacket of his master's, entered Psikov's room and bowed low
before the magistrate. His face was sleepy and tear stained.
He was tipsy and could hardly keep his feet. Where
is your master, Tchubikov asked him, murdered you, worship. As
he said this, Nicholas blinked and began to weep. We
know he was murdered, but where is he now? Where
is his body? They say he was dragged out of
the window and buried in the garden. Hum The results
of the investigation are known in the kitchen already. That's bad.
Where were you, my good fellow, the night the master
was murdered Saturday night? That is? Nicholas raised his head,
stretched his neck and began to think. I don't know you, worship,
He said, I was drunk and don't remember. An alibi
whispered Dukovsky, smiling and rubbing his hands. So and why
is there blood under the master's window. Nicholas jerked his
head up and considered. Hurry up, said the Captain of
police right away. That blood doesn't amount to anything, you worship.
I was cutting a chicken's throat. I was doing it
quite simply in the usual way, when all of a
sudden it broke away and started to run. That is
where the blood came from. Iphraim declared that Nicholas did
kill a chicken every evening, and always in some new place,
but that nobody ever heard of a half killed chicken
running about the garden, though of course it wasn't impossible.
An alibi, sneered Dukovsky. And what an assenine alibi? Did
ye know? Aquilina? Yes, your worship, I know her, and
the Master cut you out with her, not at all,
he cut me out, mister Psaikoff. Here Ivan Mikhailovitch, and
the Master cut Ivan mikhailov That is how it was.
Psakov grew confused and began to scratch his left eye.
Dukovsky looked at him attentively, noted his confusion, and started.
He noticed that the director had dark blue trousers, which
he had not observed before. The trousers reminded him of
the dark blue threads found on the burdock Troubikov, in
his turn, glanced suspiciously at Psykov Go, he said to Nicholas,
and now permit me to put a question to you,
mister Psikoff. Of course you were here last Saturday evening. Yes,
I had supper with markouz Ivanovitch about ten o'clock and afterwards, afterwards, afterwards, Really,
I do not remember, stammered Psiko. I had a good
deal to drink at supper. I don't remember when or
where I went to sleep. Why are you all looking
at me like that, as if I was the murderer?
Where were you when you woke up? I was in
the servants kitch, lying behind the stove. They can all
confirm it. How I got behind the stove, I don't know.
Do not get agitated. Do you know, Aquilina, there is
nothing extraordinary about that. She first liked you and then
preferred Klausov. Yes, Iphraim, give us some more mushrooms? Do
you want some more tea? Yugrovkuzmitch a heavy oppressive silence
began and lasted fully five minutes. Dukovsky silently kept his
piercing eyes fixed on Psaikov's pale face. The silence was
finally broken by the examining magistrate. We must go to
the house and talk with Marya Ivanovna, the sister of
the deceased. Perhaps she may be able to supply some clues.
Tchubikov and his assistant expressed their thanks for the breakfast
and went toward the house. They found Klausov's sister, marya Ivanovna,
an old maid of forty five, at prayer before the
big case of ikons. When she saw the porfolios in
her guest's hands and their official caps, she grew pale.
Let me begin by apologizing for disturbing, so to speak,
your devotions, began the gallant tobikough, bowing and scraping. We
have come to you with a request. Of course, you
have heard already. There is a suspicion that your dear brother,
in some way or other, has been murdered the will
of God. You know no one can escape death, neither
tsar nor plowmen. Could you not help us with some clue,
some explanation? Oh, don't ask me, said marya Ivanovna, growing
still paler and covering her face with her hands. I
can tell you nothing, nothing. I beg you, I know nothing.
What can I do? Oh no, no, not a word
about my brother. If I die, I won't say anything.
Marya Ivanovna began to weep and left the room. The
investigators looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and beat
a retreat. Confound the woman, scolded Dukovsky, going out of
the house. It is clear she knows something and is
concealing it, and the chambermaid has a queer expression too. Wait,
you wretches, we'll ferret it all out. In the evening,
Chubikov and his deputy lit on their road by the
pale moon, wended their way homeward. They sat in their
carriage and sought over the results of the day. Both
were tired and kept silent. Chubikov was always unwilling to
talk while traveling, and the talkative Dukovsky remained silent to
fall in with the elder man's humor. But at the
end of their journey, the deputy could hold in no
longer and said, it is quite certain. He said that
Nicholas had something to do with the matter non dubitandum.
Est you can see by his face what sort of
a case he is. His alibi betrays him body and bones.
But it is also certain that he did not see
the thing going. He was only the stupid hired tool.
Do you agree? And the humble Psikov was not without
some slight share in the matter. His dark blue breeches,
his agitation, his lying behind the stove in terror after
the murder, his alibi, and Aquilina grind away million. It's
your week. So according to you, whoever knew Aquilina is
the murderer, hot head, you ought to be sucking a
bottle and not handling affairs. You were one of Aquilina's
admirers yourself. Does it follow that you are implicated too?
Aquilina was cooking your house for a month. I am
saying nothing about that. The night before that Saturday, I
was playing cards with you and saw you. Otherwise I
should be after you too. It isn't the woman that matters,
old Chap. It is the mean, nasty, low spirit of
jealousy that matters. The retiring young man was not pleased
when they got the better of him. You see his
vanity don't you see he wanted rever then those thick
lips of his suggest passion. So there you have it
wound itself, love and passion. That is quite enough motive
for a murder. We have two of them in our hands.
But who is the third? Nicholas and Psakov held him.
But who smothered him? Psikov is shy, timid and all
round coward, and Nicholas would not know how to smother
with a pillow his sort use an axe or a club.
Some third person did the smothering. But who was it?
Draukovski crambed his hat down over his eyes and pondered.
He remained silent until the carriage rolled up to the
magistrate's door. Eureka, he said, entering the little house and
throwing off his overcoat. Eureka, Nikolas Yamulayevitch. The only thing
I can't understand is how it did not occur to
me sooner? Do you know who the third person was? Oh,
for goodness sake, shut up, There is supper. Sit down
to y evening meal. The magistrate on Dukovsky sat down
to supper. Dukovsky poured himself out a glass of vodka.
Rose drew himself up and said with sparkling eyes, Well,
learn that the third person who acted in concert with
that scoundrel Psaikhov and did the smothering was a woman. Yes,
I'm in The murdered man's sister, marya Ivanovna Chubikov choked
over his vodka and fixed his eyes on Dukovsky. If
you aren't what's its name? Your head isn't what you
call it, You haven't a pain in it? I am
perfectly well, very well, let us say I am crazy.
But how do you explain her confusion when we appeared?
How do you explain her unwillingness to give us any information?
Let us admit that these are trifles. Very well, all right,
but remember their relations. She detested her brother. She never
forgave him for living apart from his wife. She is
of the old while in her eyes he is a
godless profligate. There is where the germ of her hate
was hatched. They say he succeeded in making her believe
that he was an angel of Satan. He even went
in for spiritualism in her presence. Well, what of that?
Ye don't understand? She as a member of the old faith,
murdered him through fanaticism. It was not only that she
was putting to death a weed, a profligate. She was
freeing the world of an antichrist. And there, in her
opinion was her service, her religious achievement. Oh you don't
know those old maids of the old faith? Read Dostoyevsky,
and what does Lyskov say about them? Or Pocchersky. It
was she and nobody else. Even if you cut me open,
she smothered him. Oh, treacherous woman. Wasn't that the reason
why she was kneeling before the icons when we came in,
just to take our attention away. Let me kneel down
and pray, she said to herself, and they will think
I am tranquil in did not expect them. That is
the plan of all novices in crime. Nicholas Yamulayevitch, Old pal, my, dear,
old man. Won't you entrust this business to me? Let
me personally bring it through. Friend, I began it and
I will finish it. Chubikov shook his head and frowned.
We know how to manage difficult matters ourselves, he said,
And your business is not to push yourself in where
ye don't belong. Write from dictation. When you are dictated
to that is your job. Dukovsky flared up, banged the
door and disappeared. Clever Rascal, muttered Chubikov, glancing after him.
Awfully clever, but too much of a hot head. I
must buy him a cigar case at the fair as
at present. The next day, early in the morning, a
young man with a big head and a pursed up
mouth who came from Klasov's place, was introduced to the
magistrate's office. He said he was the shepherd Daniel and
brought a very interesting piece of information. I was a
bit drunk, he said. I was with my pal till midnight.
On my way home. As I was drunk, I went
into the river for a bath. I was taking a
bath when I looked up. Two men were walking along
the dam carrying something black show. I cried at them.
They got scared and went off like the wind toward
Makareff's cabbage garden. Strike me dead if they weren't carrying
away the master. That same day, toward evening, Psakov and
Nicholas were arrested and brought under guard to the district town.
In the town, they were committed to the cells of
the prison. Part two. A fortnight passed, it was morning.
The magistrate Nicholas Yamalayevitch was sitting in his office before
a green table, turning over the papers of the Klausov case.
Taukovsky was striding restlessly up and down, like a wolf
in a cage. You are convinced of the guilt of
Nikola Psykov, he said, nervously, plucking at his young beard.
Why will you not believe in the guilt of marya Ivanovna.
Are there not proofs enough for you? I don't say
I am not convinced. I am convinced, but somehow I
don't believe it. There are no real proofs, but just
a kind of philosophizing fanaticism. This and that you can't
do without an axe and blood stained sheets. Those jurists
very well, I'll prove it to you. You will stop
sneering at the psychological side of the affair to Siberia
with your marya Ivanovna. I will prove it. If philosophy
is not enough for you, I have something substantial for you.
It will show you how correct my philosophy is. Just
give me permission. What are you going on about about
the safety match. Have you forgotten it? I haven't. I
am going to find out who struck it in the
murdered man's room. It was not Nicholas that struck it.
It was not Psykov, for neither of them had any
matches when they were examined. It was the third person,
marya Ivanovna. I will prove it to you. Just give
me permission to go through the district to find out.
That's enough, Sit down, Let's go on with the examination.
Dukovsky sat down at a little table and plunged his
long nose in a bundle of papers. Bring in Nicholas, Tetakov,
cried the examining magistrate. They brought Nicholas in. Nicholas was
pale and thin as a rail. He was trembling. Tetakov
began Tchubikov. In eighteen seventy nine, you were tried in
the court of the first Division, convicted of theft and
sentenced to imprisonment. In eighteen eighty two you would tried
a second time for theft and were again imprisoned. We
know all astonishment was depicted in Nicholas's face. The examining
magistrate's omniscience startled him, but soon His expression of astonishment
changed wish to extreme indignation. He began to cry and
requested permission to go and wash his face and quiet down.
They led him away. Bring in Psikov, ordered the examining magistrate.
They brought in Psikov. The young man had changed greatly
during the last few days. He had grown thin and
pale and looked haggard. His eyes had an apathetic expression.
Sit down, Psychov said, Chubikov, I hope that to day
you are going to be reasonable and will not tell
lies as you did before. All these days you have
denied that you had anything to do with the murder
of Klausov, in spite of all the proofs that testify
against you. That is foolish. Confession will lighten your guilt.
This is the last time I am going to talk
to you. If you do not confess to day, to morrow,
it will be too late. Come tell me all. I
know nothing about it. I know nothing about your proofs,
answered Psikov, almost inaudibly. It's no use. Well, let me
relate to you how the matter took place. On Saturday evening,
you were sitting in Klausov's sleeping room and drinking vodka.
And beer with him. Dukovsky fixed his eyes on Psakov's
face and kept them there all through the examination. Nicholas
was waiting on you. At one o'clock, Marko Ivanovitch announced
his attention of going to bed. He always went to
bed at one o'clock. When he was taking off his
boots and was giving you directions about details of management.
You and Nicholas, at a given signal, seized your drunken
master and threw him on the bed. One of you
sat on his legs, the other on his head. Then
a third person came in from the passage, a woman
in a black dress, whom ye know well, and who
had previously arranged with you as to her share in
your criminal deed. She seized a pillow and began to
smother him. While the struggle was going on, the candle
went out. The woman took a box of safety matches
from her pocket and lit the candle. Was it not
so I see by your face that I am speaking
the truth? But to go on? After you had smothered
him and saw that you had ceased breathing, Hugh and
Nicholas pulled him through the window and laid him down
near the burdock. Fearing that you might come round again,
you struck him with something sharp. Then you carried him
away and laid him down under a lilac bush for
a short time. After resting a while and considering, you
carried him across the fence. Then you entered the road.
After that comes the dam. Near the dam, a peasant
frightened you. Well, what is the matter with you? I
am suffocating, replied Psikov. Very well, have it so? Only
let me go out, please. They led Psikov away. At last,
he has confessed, cried Chubikov, stretching himself luxuriously. He has
betrayed himself, and didn't I get round him cleverly, regularly
caught him napping, and he doesn't deny the woman in
the black dress out to Dukovsky. But all the same,
that safety match is tormenting me. Frightfully. I can't stand
it any longer. Good Bye, I am off. Dukovski put
on his cap and drove Offchubikov began to examine Aquilina.
Aquilina declared that she knew nothing whatever about it. At
six that evening, Dukovski returned. He was more agitated than
he had ever been before. His hands trembled so that
he could not even unbutton his greatcoat. His cheeks glowed.
It was clear that he did not come empty handed.
Vinny Vidyevitchy, he cried, rushing into Chubikov's room and falling
into an arm chair. I swear to you, my honor,
I begin to believe that I am a genius. Listen, devil,
take us all. It is funny and it is sad.
We have caught three already. Isn't that so well? I
have found the fourth, and a woman at that He
will never believe who it is. But listen. I went
to Klasov's village and began to make a spiral round it.
I visited all the little shops, public houses, dram shops,
on the road, everywhere, asking for safety matches. Everywhere they
said there hadn't any. I made a wide round. Twenty
times I lost faith, and twenty times I got back again.
I knocked about the whole day, and only an hour
ago I got on the track three versts from here.
They gave me a packet of ten boxes. One box
was missing. Immediately who bought the other box? Such a one?
She was pleased with them Old man Nicholas Yamalayevitch. See
what a fellow who was expelled from the seminary and
who has read Garboryo can do. From to day on,
I begin to respect myself. Oof, Well, come, come where
to HER's Noumber four? We must hurry otherwise otherwise I'll
burst with impatience. Do you know who she is? You'll
never guess. Olga Petrovna markus Ivanovitch's wife, his own wife,
That's who it is. She is the person who bought
the match box. You you, you are out of your mind.
It's quite simple to begin with. She smokes. Secondly, she
was head and ears in love with Klausov, even after
he refused to live in the same house with her
because she was always scolding his head off. Why they
say she used to beat him because she loved him
so much, and then he positively refused to stay in
the same house. Love tan souer hell hath no fury
like a woman scorned. But come along quick or it
will be dark. Come. I am not yet sufficiently crazy
to go and disturb a respectable, honorable woman in the
middle of the night for a crazy boy. Respectable honorable
do honorable women murder their husbands. After that, you are
a rag and not an examining magistrate. I never ventured
to call your names before, but now you compel me
to rag dressing gown. Dear, Nicholas Yamulakovitch, do come, I
beg of you. The magistrate made a deprecating motion with
his hand. I beg of you. I ask not for myself,
but in the interests of justice. I beg you. I
implore you do what ask kitty. Just this. Once Dukovsky
went down on his knees. Nicholas Yamulakovitch, be kind, call
me a blackguard, and ne'er do well if I am
mistaken about this woman. You see what an affair it is,
What a case? It is a romance, a woman murdering
her own husband for love. The fame of it will
go all over Russia. They will make investigator in all
important cases. Understand O, foolish old man. The magistrate frowned
and undecidedly stretched his hand towards his cap. Oh the
devil take you, he said, let us go. It was
dark when the magist Tred's carriage rolled up to the
porch of the old country house, in which all Gopetrovna
had taken refuge with her brother. What pigs we are,
said Tchubikov, taking hold of the bell to disturb a
poor woman like this. It's all right, it's all right,
don't get frightened. We can say that we have broken
a spring. Chubikov and Dukovsky were met at the threshold
by a tall, buxom woman of three and twenty with
pitch black brows and juicy red lips. It was all Gopetrovna, herself,
apparently not in the least distressed by the recent tragedy. Oh,
what a pleasant surprise, she said, smiling broadly. You are
just in time for supper. Kosmar Petrovitch is not at home.
He is visiting the priest and has stayed late. But
we'll get on without him. Be seated. You have come
from the examination. Yes, we broke a spring, you know,
began Tchubikov, entering the sitting room and sinking into an
arm chair. Take her unawares at once, whispered Dukovsky. Take
her unawares a spring. Hum, Yes, so we came in.
Take her unawares. I tell you, she will guess what
the matter is. If you drag things out like that.
We'll do it yourself as you want, but let me
get out of it, muttered to muttered Chubikov, rising and
going to the window. Yes, a spring began Dukovsky, going
close to Olga Petrovna and wrinkling his long nose. We
did not drive over here to take supper with you
or to see Cosmo Petrovitch. We came here to ask you,
respected madame, where Markus Ivanovitch is whom you murdered? What
Markus Ivanovitch murdered? Stammered Olga Petrovna, and her broad face
suddenly and instantaneously flushed bright scarlet. I don't understand. I
ask you, in the name of the law. Where is Klausov?
We know all? Who told you? Olga Petrovna asked in
a low voice, unable to endure Dukovsky's glance. Be so
good as to show us where he is. But how
did you find out who told you? We know all?
I demand it in the name of the law. The
examining magistrate, emboldened by her confusion, came forward and said,
show us and we will go away. Otherwise we what
do you want with him? Madam? What is the use
of these questions. We ask you to show us you tremble.
You are agitated. Yes, he has been murdered, and if
you must have it murdered by you, your accomplices have
betrayed you. Olga Petrovna grew pale. Come, she said, in
a low voice, wringing her hands. I have him hid
in the bath house only for Heaven's sake. Do not
tell Kouzmar Petrovitch. I beg and implore you. He will
never forgive me. Olga Petrovna took down a big key
from the wall and led her guests through the kitchen
and passage to the courtyard. The courtyard was on darkness,
fine rain was falling. Olga Petrovna walked in advance of them.
Chubikoff and Dukovski strode behind her through the long grass
as the odor of wild hem and dishwater splushing under
their feet reached them. The courtyard was wide. Soon the
dishwater ceased, and they felt freshly broken earth under their feet.
In the darkness appeared the shadowy outlines of trees, and
among the trees a little house with a crooked chimney.
That is the bath house, said Olga Petrovna. But I
implore you do not tell my brother. If ye do,
I'll never hear the end of it. Going up to
the bath house, Chubikov and Dukovsky saw a huge padlock
on the door. Get your candle and matches ready, whispered
the examining magistrate to his deputy. Olga Petrovna unfastened the
padlock and let her guests into the bath house. Tukowski
struck a match and lit up the ante room. In
the middle of the ante room stood table. On the
table Beside the sturdy little Samovar stood a soup tureen
with old cabbage soup and a plate with the remnants
of some sauce. Forward, they went into the next room,
where the bath was, there was a table there. Also
on the table was a dish with some ham, a
bottle of vodka, plaits, knives forks. But where is it?
Where is the murdered man, asked the examining magistrate. On
the top tier, whispered Olga Petrovna, still pale and trembling,
Dukovski took the candle in his hand and climbed up
to the top tier of the sweating frame. There he
saw a long human body lying motionless, on a large
feather bed. A slight snow came from the body. You
are making fun of us, devil, take it, cried Dukovski.
That is not the murdered man. Some live fool is
lying here here. Whoever you are the devil, take you.
The body drew in a quick breath, stirred. Teukovsky stuck
his elbow into it. It raised a hand, stretched itself
and lifted its head. Who is sneaking in here? He asked,
in a hoarse, heavy bass, what do you want? Teukovsky
raised the candle to the face of the unknown and
cried out in the red nose, disheveled, unkempt hair, the
pitch black mustaches, one of which was jauntily twisted and
pointed insolently toward the ceiling. He recognized the gallant cavalryman
Klausov You markus Ivanovitch. Is it possible? The examining magistrate
glanced sharply up at him and stood spellbound. Yes, it
is I. That's you, Dukovsky. What the devil do you
want here? And who's that other mug down there? Great snakes,
it's the examining magistrate. What fate has brought him here?
Klasov rushed down and threw his arms round Chubikov in
a cordial embrace. Olga Petrovna slipped through the door. How
did you come here? Let's have a drink, devil take it.
Tratati tutum, tratati tutum. Let us drink? But who brought
you here? How did you find out that I was here?
But it doesn't matter. Let's have a drink. Klasov lit
the lamp and poured out three glasses of vodka. That
is I don't understand you, said the examining magistrate, running
his hands over him. Is this you or not you? Oh?
Shut up? You want to preach me a sermon. Don't
trouble yourself, young Dukovsky. Empty your glass, friends, let us
bring this What are you looking at? Drink all the same?
I do not understand, said the examining magistrate, mechanically drinking
off the vodka. What are you here for? Why shouldn't
I be here? If I am all right here, Klasov
drained his glass and took a bite of ham. I
am in captivity here, as you see, in solitude in
a cavern, like a ghost or a bogy drink. She
carried me off and locked me up. And well, I
am living here in the deserted bath house like a hermit.
I am fed. Next week I think I'll try to
get out. I'm tired of it here incomprehensible, said Tukovski.
What is incomprehensible about it? Incomprehensible? For heaven's sake, how
did your boot get into the garden? What boot? We
found one boot in the sleeping room and the other
in the garden. And what you want to know that for?
It's none of your business. Why didn't you drink? Devil
take you? If you wakened me, then drink with me.
It is an interesting tale, brother, that of the boot.
I didn't want to go with Olga. I don't like
to be bossed. She came under the window and began
to abuse me. She always was a termagant. You know
what women are, like all of them. I was a
bit drunk, so I took a boot and heaved it
at her. Ha ha tita not a scold enough time.
But it didn't, not a bit of it. She climbed
in at the window, lit the lamp and began to
hammer poor tipsy me. She thrushed me dragged me over
here and locked me in. She feeds me now on love,
vodka and ham. But where are you off to, Chubikov,
Where are you going? The examining magistrates swore and left
the bath house. Teukoski followed him, crest fallen. They silently
took their seats in the carriage and drove off. The
road never seemed to them so long and disagreeable as
it did that time. Both remained silent. Chubikov trembled with
rage all the way. Teukovski hid his nose in the
collar of his overcoat, as if he was afraid that
the darkness and the drizzling rain might read the shame
in his face. When they reached home, the examining magistrate
found doctor Tyutyev awaiting him. The doctor was sitting at
the table and, sighing deeply, was turning over the pages
of the Never such goings on there are in the world,
he said, meeting the examining magistrate with a sad smile.
Austria is at it again, and Gladstone also to some extent.
Chubikov threw his cap under the table and shook himself
devil's skeletons don't you plague me A thousand times. I
have told you not to bother me with your politics.
This is no question of politics, and you, said Tchubikov,
turning to Dukovsky and shaking his fist. I won't forget
this in a thousand years. But the safety match, how
could I know? Choke yourself with your safety match. Get
out of my way. Don't make me mad or the
devil only knows what I'll do to you. Dukovsky sighed,
took his hat and went out. I'll go and get drunk,
he decided, going through the door and gloomily wending his
way to the public house. End of the Safety Match
by Anton Tchekhov